


November 7, 2016

by Phinmeister



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diary/Journal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phinmeister/pseuds/Phinmeister
Summary: I found a journal entry from a year ago when I took a creative writing class at my university. It details writing for Nanowrimo, being depressed, and listening to John Lennon's album Walls and Bridges. In other words, my normal, daily life.





	November 7, 2016

I was naked, sitting at my chair, wrapped up in a blanket that enveloped me and my head, writing and typing. Clothes were overrated. Going to sleep was overrated. It was two minutes to one AM.

I was going to turn off the light, but I decided at the spur of the moment not to. It was my room, after all, and I had complete control. I had the freedom to do whatever the fuck I wanted, and if that meant not turning off the light, and not sleeping, and writing and typing, and being naked and covered up in a blanket, then so fucking be it.

The blanket was pink, which I hated, but it had owls on it, which I loved. I loved owls so much. I should probably wash it, because it smelled a bit. I was so messy. My room was messy and I desperately, desperately needed to clean up.

I had finally washed myself. Took a ten minute shower, or maybe it was longer, I don't know. Whenever I take a shower my hair falls in front of my face when it dries. It's so fluffy and soft, though, and I love that.

I was hungry. It had been five or so hours since I had last eaten anything. I had brushed my teeth right after my shower because I felt really fucking gross, but then I had been unable to eat anything. I hadn't even had any tea.

I took a drink of water from my water bottle. I had to keep going. Keep writing. I had five hundred words left. I had procrastinated, and I hadn't cared, and it was a damn good thing that I wasn't tired, otherwise I would be fucked.

I had had Mountain Dew with my dinner because I had seen this coming. I knew I would be up for a while trying to write but not getting anywhere, stopping and starting and stopping again and distracting myself and allowing myself to be distracted. Not caring, feeling free, feeling careless.

It wasn't that late. I had been staying up much later than this, and many times I had felt so tired I had expected myself to just faint from exhaustion at any moment, but I hadn't, and I had kept myself awake playing Solitaire or Sudoku or some shit or watching YouTube videos and not laughing because I was tired. I wasn't too tired now, but I didn't feel like playing games or watching videos or doing anything in particular other than writing, which was good because now I was 338 words behind, and now that number is going down.

_I got to get down, down on my knees, got to got to get down, down on my knees._

_Somebody please, please help me, you know I'm drowning in a sea of hatred..._

_Keep on keeping on._

I had a bit of a headache, and I had had a bit of a headache seven hours ago, but I hadn't done anything about it, and look where I was now, back to having a bit of a headache seven hours later. I was sick of downing medication and medicine and what was the fucking difference between those two? They both sucked. 228 words left.

I can do this, I told myself, you can do this, we can do this. It can be done. Can being the operative word, along with do, and I fucked that up, didn't I? I fuck everything up. Maybe I should, in fact, go to bed.

Those were my thoughts. I ignored them, as I ignore every bit of advice that is flown my way, and I continued writing and typing and wishing I had food and wishing I had tea. Tea helped me out more than my antidepressant did.

_I'm scared and scared and scared as the years roll away._

_I'm scarred and scarred and scarred every day of my life. I just manage to survive. I just want to stay alive._

I didn't know what I was going to do tomorrow. I would probably sleep in and feel terrible about that. I would probably feel terrible for doing anything at all. I would have tea, hopefully, and eat something instead of starving to death, which I secretly wished I would do, and I wouldn't call my mother.

_Bless you, wherever you are. Windswept child on a shooting star._

My friend's birthday was the day after tomorrow, or I guessed it was tomorrow, because it was after 1 A M and it was the next day. I couldn't send a present to Canada. I didn't have the money even if I wanted to. I did want to. I didn't have any money. I was dying.

_Keep on keeping on._


End file.
